Professional Misconduct
by Alainn
Summary: University Code of Conduct: Article III, Section IV, Par. A: Romantic relationships between faculty and students are expressly forbidden. Par. B: Failure to comply with (a) may result in dismissal of the professor and possible expulsion of the student.
1. Charlie

**Disclaimer: **You guys know the drill. I own nothing.

**A/N:** I think Charlie is adorable, so of course, I had to write about him. And the other stories here so far about him seem to pair him with Amita, so I thought I'd do an OFC. Hope you guys like. The name of the chapter indicates whose perspective the chapter is told in. **No flames please, though constructive criticism is welcome.**

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**Chapter 1**

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Okay, 12:00 noon, Wednesday. 

Second class of the day. Don't turn around.

Don't look at her.

If you look at her, she'll smile at you, and then you'll go all goofy and smile back without even meaning to.

That's it. Just keep writing. The chalkboard is your best friend right now.

"Take your seats." Good. Authoritative tone. Very nice.

Alright, now comes the part where you _have_ to turn around. You can't teach with your back to the class. Nice and slow. _Don't _look at her. There ya go. Focus on the kid in the front row with the big brown stain on his shirt. (How does he not notice those things when he's getting dressed in the morning?)

Now, explain the theorem. Very good. See? You're doing it. You haven't looked at her yet. This is taking up at least a good twenty or thirty minutes of class.

Now, tell them to try it. Laugh at the kid who thinks he already has it just from listening to you. Good. Now, just stand here while they work.

Houston, we have a problem.

She raised her hand. Damn it.

I can't ignore her when she actually raises her hand.

I knew I should have picked out an easier lesson today.

Sighing, I call on her. Unfortunately, instead of asking her question aloud, she waves me over, probably to avoid disturbing the still-working majority of the class. Even more reluctantly than I called on her, I make my way over to her.

When I arrive, she smiles and gestures to her paper, asking where she went wrong (it was fairly easy for her to discern that she had the incorrect answer). I saw the problem immediately of course and was about to point it out to her when her friend David who sat on the other side of her leaned over and did it for me.

For the first time, I was grateful to have him in my class. I had never really liked the kid. Of course, I would never admit to myself that the reason for my dislike had nothing to do with his know-it-all demeanor (I had had several students with the same character flaw) and everything to do with the fact that I had a sneaking suspicion that he and Grace were dating. Or that he at least was interested.

"Mr. McCrae seems to think he has it everyone," I announced, heading back to the front of the room and hoisting myself into a sitting position on my desk. "Let's have it."

He clears his throat and then reads his answer. It's right. The bastard.

Upon hearing his response, I ask if anyone has trouble with it. I receive many raised hands at this. So I begin explaining, hoping this will take up the remainder of our time.

When 1:20 rolls around, I almost scream in relief. I don't have to see her again until Saturday at our tutoring session. Of course, I'm alone with her then. This class will seem like a breeze compared to that.

This was all my fault really. When she came to me, I should have asserted more strongly that I didn't have the time to tutor my students. I shouldn't have caved. 'Cause I really didn't anyway. Things had been slow for Don lately (at least on cases he needed _me_ for), and subsequently, I only had my classes to worry about. Yes, I should have recommended her to the student tutoring program. Maybe it's all Don's fault. He should call me more often. Yes, I'll blame him.

I think I dismiss them a little too eagerly, but no-one seems to notice this.

I'm rather stoic on the outside, but inside, as I wipe the chalkboard clean, I'm having a little celebration. Fireworks are going off. I made it. I'll worry about Saturday on Saturday. I'm in the clear.

Or so I thought. Until I turned around and saw her approaching my desk.

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Sorry it's so short, and I know it's written strangely (since it's stream of conciousness to a certain extent), but it'll probably move to past tense after the first couple of chapters. I just wanted to get you guys inside his head and later, inside Grace's. More soon! 


	2. Grace

Thanks for all the replies you guys! I was worried I wouldn't get any for something so short. This one is Grace's pov. Enjoy!

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Chapter 2

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Okay, breathe.

Good girl. You're doing fine.

Maybe these butterflies wouldn't have set up permanent residence in your stomach if he was old like the other professors.

Ignore the fact that he plainly saw you coming and turned back around. Sure, it looked casual. Maybe it is. Maybe the idea that he doesn't like you is all in your head. Even if it does feel like you're always getting on his nerves lately.

Ignore the fact that you kind of miss the way he used to smile at you before he got all weird.

Now stop walking or you'll run into the desk.

Inhale. Exhale. Perfect.

"Professor Eppes?"

Pay no attention to the way his back stiffens when you speak. Maybe you just startled him. Even though you know he saw you coming.

"Miss Callahan."

Okay, maybe he could at least turn around.

He had asked me to call him Charlie in one of our sessions once and I had for the rest of that day. Recently, however, I had reverted back to formalities and he had yet to correct me.

"Umm." Well don't stutter. You'll look nervous.

He turns around at my hesitance and gives me an expectant look. I again try to ignore the fact that he also looks agitated.

"I was…kind of wondering if I could switch our session this week."

There. You said it.

He seems to ponder this for a few seconds, then turns back around and begins writing a new equation on the board. "Miss Callahan, I specifically explained in the beginning that my time was somewhat limited."

"Yes sir, I know that, but you see, I have to speak with the undergraduate financial advisor about my scholarship and she scheduled the meeting for Saturday afternoon, and I…" Stop hesitating! "Well, I sort of _need_ my scholarship."

Maybe I should tell him that it's his class that's bringing my grades down and disqualifying me for the academic requirements. Get some sympathy.

He sighs and stops writing. "When did you have in mind?"

"Well, Friday if you're free."

It takes him another moment to respond and I wonder if maybe he has plans. "Fine," is the eventual reply, "Five o' clock?"

"Great, thanks."

Well. You're done. So, get going.

Stop standing around like an idiot. Leave!

He faces me again. "Was there something else?"

Yes. Why don't you like me? What'd I do wrong? You were fine around me a few weeks ago.

Yeah, right. Like you can really say that.

I allow a tight smile and I shake my head. "No sir. I'll umm…I'll see you Friday."

Okay, _now_ leave.

Yes! Feet are moving! Now we're talking.

Keep ignoring the discomfort around him where there used to be none.

Ignore that you can feel him watching you leave and it is the longest he has dared to keep his eyes on you the whole of the class.

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Hope that gives you guys a little more insight on Grace. I think I will move to past tense in the next chapter (though it'll still be alternating first person). 


	3. Charlie

Here's more!

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Chapter 3

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I kept telling myself I could do this.

So those few moments after class with her had been hell and now I had to endure a few hours. Big deal. I could handle it. Handle's my middle name. (Well, actually it's Edward, but that's not relevant, is it?)

So there I was. Sitting at my desk with the text book open in front of me and not even looking at it. No, I was staring at the clock. 5:04. She was late. I think she was _trying_ to torture me. I just wanted to get it over with already. Hell, I wanted to get the whole semester over with. Get her out of my class, out of my head, and…other places.

If she made me late for dinner, Pop was gonna kill me.

Wow, I sounded like I was back in high school. Let him wait. It wasn't gonna kill him. Maybe if he would actually meet some of the women we set him up with (or find some of his own) he would have more interesting dinner plans than sitting around with me and Don. It was kind of sad really. Three grown men with no company but each other. And the greatest possibility for a relationship with the fairer sex lay with the sixty-year-old.

I stared at the multiple chalkboards lined with equations. I needed a life.

"Professor?"

I nearly jumped, but I caught myself. "Grace," I greeted her, the title slipping out before I was aware of it. Though the use of her first name seemed to actually relax her a bit. She smiled and sat down across from me, setting her bag down beside her chair and pulling out a spiral notebook.

We had been working for about thirty or thirty-five minutes when I noticed her staring at me whenever I would gaze at the book or papers for an extended period of time. I wasn't really sure how to address it, so I simply looked up at her and asked: "Is something wrong?"

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "I was actually wondering the same thing." My brow must have furrowed at this because she went on. "You've been…I don't know, different lately. Just these last few sessions and classes. It's like…" There was an obvious pause here, "I annoy you or something."

Great. She thought she annoyed me. Far from it.

It took me a minute to collect myself enough for an answer. "You don't annoy me," was all I managed.

"Would you actually tell me if I did though?"

I actually chuckled at this comment, enticing a laugh from her as well. "Probably not." I set my pen down and leaned over the desk a little, more comfortable now that the situation was as out in the open as it could be. "Can I ask you something?" Her laugh dissipated and she nodded. "Why don't you like math?"

"I never said I didn't. I'm just…no good at it."

I arched an eyebrow. "But you don't, do you?"

She laughed again. "No. I hate it."

"So. Why?"

"Well, why do you _like _it?" she countered. "Because you _are_ good at it, right?"

"Not really, no." I shook my head. "I mean…sure, that _helps_, but uh…that's not why I like it."

"So why do you?"

I thought about it. Why indeed? I had never really considered it. Math was just…there. I don't know. It was me. What _was_ I without math?

"It makes sense," I finally said. "There's always an answer." I looked up at her again and gave her a small smile. "That'd be nice out of life, wouldn't it?"

"Yeah," she agreed.

"So what _do_ you like?" I inquired.

"Oh, I'm an English Lit. Major," she informed me, giggling again. "About as far from this as you can get." She gestured to the volumes surrounding us.

"English Lit.?" I echoed. "Really?"

She nodded. "Why so surprised?"

"I would have pegged you in Communications or something. PR or business."

"Hmm." She sat back in her chair and the corners of her mouth twitched in an amused smile. "So I'm not intellectual enough for literature?"

I raised my hands in mock defense. "You assume I think business requires no brains. Maybe I just didn't picture you enough of a romantic."

"I wouldn't say that's why I chose it."

"So why?"

"Because the right combination of words can touch us in ways that no other medium can."

I sat back in my chair as she had. "Wow. You didn't even have to think about it."

"Well, in all fairness, I think I must tell you, they asked me in my admissions essay, so I was sort of prepared."

We both began laughing again at this and it was here that I caught a glimpse of the clock again. It was already six. I had a half hour. "I'm sorry, Grace, I'm wasting your time," I apologized. "I'm supposed to be tutoring you."

She continued smiling at me. "I don't mind Professor."

I smiled back, flipping the page of the text. "Charlie," I corrected her.

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At this point, my knowledge of the university he teaches at is that it is an anonymous California college, so I wasn't sure if it specialized in math. So I made Grace an English Lit. Major cuz I figured it'd balance out Charlie a bit. For those who were wondering, Alan and Don will be in the next chapter! 


	4. Charlie

Sorry it took so long guys, been busy with school and all. This one is still in Charlie's perspective cuz I promised you guys Don and Alan and Grace obviously doesn't know them yet. Enjoy!

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Chapter 4

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"You're late."

This was the only greeting I received and the only one I really expected. Neither looked up from their meal at my entrance, not even Dad to make his comment. I stood there, bag still slung over my shoulder, watching them continue as if I still had yet to arrive, and not really sure if they still wanted me to sit when they were already half-finished.

This is when Dad decided to raise his head and say: "You gonna just stand there or are you gonna sit down and tell us why?"

Sighing, I dropped my bag to the floor (ignoring the look that was shot at me for doing so) and plopped down across from Don. When no-one questioned me further, I reached across the table and started lobbing mashed potatoes onto the plate that had been set for me.

"So?" Don prompted between munchings.

I stopped spooning. "So what?"

"What happened? Paper grading? Some breakthrough equation that couldn't wait?"

"No, I uh," I hesitated, then realized there was nothing unusual about the reasons for my tardiness that I needed to conceal. "I had a tutoring session that went late."

"Tutoring?"

"Yeah."

"You tutor? Since when?"

"Since someone asked."

Don shook his head and returned his attention to spearing a green bean with his fork. "Wouldn't think you'd have the time. So how'd it go?"

"Fine. Good."

"Good?" Don echoed.

I nodded. "Yeah."

Don chuckled slightly and again went back to his own meal. "When I'd ask you for help with my homework, you would always get frustrated with me."

"Well, Grace is a little more willing to be helped," I insisted. "And…smarter than most of the others I tutor. In a completely different way than me." I allowed a slightly wistful smile. "It's rather stimulating really."

I was busy chewing for quite a while before I noticed the both of them staring at me, eating utensils suspended in mid-air. I glanced back and forth between them before saying: "What?"

"Grace is it?" Don ventured when Dad said nothing. "So it's a girl?"

"Yes Don. It's a girl. As is over half the world's population."

He sat back in his seat with a little knowing smile and I was suddenly reminded of the few times in high school when a girl would show interest in me and he would take great delight in torturing me about it. "And she's stimulating?"

"_Intellectually _stimulating."

Dad was still silent during all of this and it was beginning to unnerve me. Whenever he remained still in these sorts of conversations, it was generally due to the fact that he was enjoying my misery as much as my brother. But there was no amusement evident on his face and I shifted in my seat uneasily.

"How old is she?" he ultimately put in.

I hesitated, though I'm not sure he noticed. "She's a freshman, Pop."

He lapsed back into silence at this and now Don seemed to sense the tension. He cleared his throat pointedly and made an obvious attempt to change the subject. "So Terry's going to New York for a few days; she tell you?"

I shook my head again, still discreetly watching Dad. "No."

He went on about it for a bit, and I can vouch that not a word of it was interesting and he knew it. So when Pop rose from the table and began gathering our plates, mumbling that he was going to start the dishes, he didn't seem too surprised. Though his eyebrows did raise a bit when I offered to help him. I took the potato bowl off his hands, ignoring his protests and followed him into the kitchen, leaving Don alone to stack up the rest.

I followed Dad over to the sink where he dropped in his load, then reached for mine to do the same. He was still eerily quiet.

"You okay?" I finally asked.

He turned to me and unfortunately, he had his "lecture face" as Don and I liked to call it. "So who's this girl?"

I swallowed and busied myself with the silverware. "She's just a student."

"You like her?" he questioned, startling me a bit with his candor.

I looked back up at him, attempting to look resolute. "She's a student," I said, as if the that was the answer in itself. And really it should have been. Logic seemed to be failing me lately though.

Luckily, it wasn't failing my father. He paused, allowing his eyes to drift down for a moment in thought, then he patted my shoulder and began running water in the basin. "Just as long as you keep that in mind."

We finished the remainder of our task without another word spoken between us and I was glad of it. 'Cause I sure as hell wouldn't have known what else to say.

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More to come! Replies!


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